Role play
by CrossMikado
Summary: At the beginning of the 6 years time-skip; Light takes a look at his situation and finds it less glorious than it should be.


Light Yagami was in no way acting stupidly (which is how he would have qualified such a behavior) when he looked at the empty seat on his left. This happened to him twice a day: before he attempted to sleep for a few hours, and when he rose from the couch upon waking. He gave himself a moment of distraction before turning back to the computer screen, and he glanced at the empty place where he had sat for months, as if it were L's place and, by acting as he did, he could find there the detective's presence. Discreet and paradoxically heavy, while his declared enemy maintained his endless posture. His shoulders bent forward and his – clearly to pale – hands clasping his knees, eyes on the lists of confused data, a sugar cube upon his tongue.

Therefore, it wasn't because of some stupid sentimentalism (« stupid » because uncalculated, ill-considered) that Light cast a look at the empty back of the chair. It was simply that he now had the time to do so. Without the constant pressure (which, as it happened, hadn't been disagreeable), the elaboration of genius plans he always had to renew and which were always renewable, the complex previsions similar to that of a chess match – four or five moves ahead to foil L's plans – … In the end, Light must admit he had gained free time. He didn't want to spend it with Misa.

Of course, he had to keep up appearances (and accessorily, make sure the death note was regularly put to use, as he spectacularly extended his rule throughout Japan – no, throughout the whole world).

That implied dates during which she happily babbled; while he had to raise his voice for her to listen to her new assignments. He alternated reproaches and charming smiles, easily fooling the waiters and other guests. (He smiled with his head slightly bent, his dark eyes nearly –dense– hidden by his fringe.)

He had so much time to spare that the finely organized sections of his mind started to mingle in an artistic blur. What was to blame, or so he thought, was the weakening of his cunning abilities. He got lost in the contemplation of empty seats, and he thought about Misa. He wasn't an idiot, but at this rate – competition-deprived – he would soon become one.

That morning only, after his third mug of coffee, he surprised himself by estimating the speed at which Matsuda would cross the distance between the coffee maker and the couch, considering factors as stupid as the fringes of the carpet (bought by Misa), the springiness of the soles of Matsuda's shoes, and the temperature of the room.

In sum, what had been before (two weeks earlier) a game of cat and mouse had become something like the repeated and tedious activation of a saving program. Keeping control of everything, optimizing a success that was still too far away to prove satisfying.

It was easy for him to reassure himself (as if he were worried!) : one more stroke-induced death; or a night of rest with Misa, her supple arms around his neck, assuring him that she would obey him again and forever, as in a wedding oath. And maybe that was all she was waiting for. There were even false alarms – one yet – including crimes Kira would potentially have committed, and which he must keep himself from over interpreting. He balanced between an incommensurable vanity born of his successes, and a frustration that could reach as high as L's piles of sugar cubes.

Frustration came from vanity, which without L had no reason to be. He had to distinguish a commonplace victory (the police's inanity) from a true victory, and those only came from his ability to keep L at arm's length, close enough to doubt but far enough to be satisfied of their mind games.

Very well, L's death had been an apotheosis. But it had only lasted a handful of seconds, and he had spent them putting up an elaborate mise-en-scene. Taking the most of the situation would have been out of the question.

He had always wanted to fully give himself to his cause, and thus destroy his human side. De facto, he had succeeded, up to having nothing human left, save his attachment to humanity.

He quickly went on typing lines of idioms on the computer, making up without an effort an essay for university. Failing to start his studies again, he had thought of officially integrating the police. Follow the plan, follow the plan. Without regrets.

He only watched this chair to persuade himself of one thing. What he saw there, this was the accomplishment of his perfect plan, the dissolution of potential failures.

He –didn't see – the lack of a pleasant training for his reflection and reaction capacities, neither did he see the evaporation of his statute of "upholder of the law and genius murderer" in front of the only denomination of "murderer".

He –surely – didn't see a silhouette sinking again the back of the chair, and sticking up over it a crisscrossing of raven-black locks. He had had the candy stocks in the kitchen emptied, and had thrown away –himself – the sachet of gelatin creatures hidden under the camp bed in the cupboard in the hall. In that chair, there was nothing left.

The order of his new world predominated over this thirst for competition L had bared.

However.

However, Light refused to question himself when, deafened by boredom, he went on one of these interactive net games dedicated to Kira and, disillusioned, chose L's part. Facing hundreds of gamers who, playing Kira, methodically killed criminals, he could for a couple of hours think of his genius as useful.


End file.
